When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. "You'd better surrender quietly, Jack," he cried; "you've no chance. “For one thing I am going to marry David Courtlaw. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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